


Remember Your Truth

by fangirl_squee



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Dreams, F/F, Gen, spoilers for up to partizan 25, very background sokrates/integrity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:13:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25106770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee
Summary: There is more than one divine hidden away on Fort Icebreaker.
Relationships: Clementine Kesh & Integrity, Gucci Garantine/Clementine Kesh
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	Remember Your Truth

**Author's Note:**

> I really thought the second divine on Fort Icebreaker was going to be Integrity!!

Clem is dreaming.

She knows she’s dreaming, because she’s in the throne room in Crutiat instead of the makeshift jail in the bowls of Fort Icebreaker. To dream of the throne is not unusual, even before prophecies and grand battles and gur sevraq. She takes a step towards the throne and the room lengthens, the throne no closer or further than before, leaving her with nothing to do but gaze at what should be her’s. What  _ could _ be her’s, if people would listen to reason, listen to  _ her. _

There’s a sound behind her, the heavy door opening and closing, followed by two sets of soft footsteps. Her thoughts stutter to a stop and she turns to see herself, younger, walking towards the throne hand in hand with a younger Gucci. They’re both wearing something she recognises instantly as being their  _ very best party clothes _ , although this doesn’t feel like a memory. Perhaps it is, and she has forgotten it. They’d attended many parties together, as children.

They don’t look at her at all, instead walking quickly towards the throne, gazing up at it for a moment. Gucci makes a gesture as if to help Clem up but the younger Clem shakes her head, sitting down on the floor instead. Gucci laughs and sits beside her, and the younger Clem smiles, shifting forward so that their knees are touching. They both look happy, relaxed in one another’s company even.

Clem swallows around the sudden lump in her throat.

_ You knew a truth, once,  _ says a voice, echoing through the room.

Clem jolts awake. The guard stationed outside her cell glances at her out of the corner of their eye. Clem stretches, making a show of being well-rested and relaxed, even though such a thing is impossible on so cheap a mattress.

She sits up slowly, switching on her small lamp. She has, at least, been provided some comforts from her quarters by those still sympathetic to her, even if actual visitors are few and far between. She speaks more to the guards stationed to watch her than she does with anyone else, and even those conversations are short ones. Perhaps the blame for that lies with her, after all, she’s never been particularly good at small talk, and she hardly has any information to share that others would not know first.

It is strange, to know nothing of what is going on around her on her own ship. It’s not as though she is unused to waiting, to boredom, but even her previous boredom used to have  _ purpose _ , the boredom of a princess, the boredom of waiting until she was called to a meeting or a ball. Now, she only has the waiting.

She picks up the book she has been pretending to read and stares out the small window into the ocean. She’s on too low a level for the water to be anything but shifting blackness, the occasional impression of movement, but it’s still more interesting than  _ Heroes in a Time of War; Being the Modern Treatise on Kesh’s Historical Accomplishments _ . Clem wrinkles her nose slightly, wishing that she’d snuck one of her fashion magazines inside her jacket instead.

_ Remember your truth _ .

Clem drops the book, her head jerking up. “What did you say?”

The guard turns their head towards her. “I didn’t say anything.”

Clem narrows her eyes at them, but their face gives nothing away. “I see. Well.”

The guard raises their eyebrows at her, very disrespectfully, and turns back to look out into the corridor.

_ You knew it once _ .

“Knew what?”

The guard turns towards her again, their expression this time tinged with confusion. “What?”

“I don’t know,” says Clem, “You started this conversation.”

“No,” says the guard slowly, “You did.”

“No,  _ you _ did,” says Clem, “You keep putting on this funny voice and saying things…”

The guard’s eyebrows almost disappear into their hairline. “I’m not doing that. Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know,” says Clem, “Why would you people do anything?”

The guard huffs a breath, turning away. “Right.”

Clem keeps her eyes fixed on them.

_ Why do you turn away from what you know is right? _

Clem realises two things - one, that the guard’s lips don’t move and two, that the voice sounds so utterly unlike theirs that it  _ must _ be somebody else. It is, she realises, probably a prank, most likely by Exeter Leap, designed to make her look foolish. Well, she won’t fall for that.

The voice prompts at her through the day, but Clem raises the book up higher, focussing on the words in front of her instead. It is a dreadfully frustrating day.

  
  
  


She’s in the throne room again. The Gucci of now is by her side this time, taking her hand as they step towards the throne together. Clem smiles, and Gucci smiles back for a moment before she glaces behind Clem, disgust clouding her expression. Clem follows her gaze, stepping back in shock as she takes in the sight of the throne before them.

The stench of decay is thick around her as Clem forces herself to step closer, looking closely at the rotting stone. Part of the arm crumbles away, sending foul, ashy dust into the air, and Clem steps back again, one arm out to reach for Gucci only to find empty air.

When she looks behind her, the room is empty, with only her footprints visible on the dusty marble floor.

_ Look to your truth _ , says the voice,  _ Come find me _ .

Clem wakes, blinking at the dim light of the corridor. She can hear people moving around, preparing the crew’s meal, marking the early hour. She lets out a slow breath, listening for a moment.

Fort Icebreaker is as quiet as ever.

She winces slightly as she sits up, glad that her expression is covered by the darkness. She can taste iron in the back of her throat, no doubt the product of a cracked lip during the night. She gets so dreadfully dry, down here.

She carries the taste of it with her through the day, as it shifts to something different, something mustier, something like crumbling stone. She wonders if it’s part of Leap’s earlier prank, to annoy her even in sleep.

She says as much to him, the next time he stops by. He’s been doing that occasionally, whenever he was passing by that area of the ship and some extra times on top of that. He grins widely at her, asking questions about her lodgings as Millie laughs from the doorway, until Clem makes her accusation.

He gives Millie a look, and Millie gives him one back.

“What?” says Leap.

“I said, isn't annoying me through voices enough,” says Clem, “Although, really, I would prefer that you do neither.”

“What voices?” says Leap, leaning forward. “Did you hear the ghost?”

“No, I heard  _ you _ , annoying me in my sleep,” says Clem.

“Why would I waste my time doing that?” says Leap, “It’s not like I make a special trip down here just to annoy you.” He pauses. “Okay, maybe I do, but not at  _ night _ , I’m not wasting time I could be sleeping looking at your stupid face-”

Millie puts a hand on his shoulder. “What did the voices say?”

“You know what it said,” said Clem, “And if you don’t you can ask Exeter Leap, since he’s obviously at fault.”

“I am  _ not _ -!”

“I’m pretty sure he didn’t-” Millie leans forward, squinting at Clem. “Are you like… okay?”

“I’m fine,” snaps Clem, although the obvious answer is  _ no _ , she’s not, she’s in prison.

Millie holds up her hands. “Okay, jeez, I was just asking.”

She pulls Leap out of the room a short while later, and Clem goes back to looking out the window.

_ Come find me _ .

Clem jolts upwards. “Leap, I know you’re there. I know that’s you, and this is extremely-”

_ I am not Exeter Leap _ , says the voice, it’s tone oddly convincing,  _ Come find me. _

“Your highness?” says the guard, frowning down at her.

“I- nothing,” says Clem.

_ Come find me _ .

Clem covers her ears with her pillow, but it doesn’t help.

  
  
  


She’s in the throne room again, and this time the smell is almost unbearable. She can hear flies buzzing around the rotting remains of the throne. A crack has formed down the back of it and Clem watches with horrified fascination as the throne splits down the middle, becoming a barely-recognisable pile of rubble.

Water begins to seep into the room, the smell of the saltwater chasing away the scent of decay. The water rises, waves lapping against Clem’s shins, soaking the hem of her dress. It rushes over the throne, washing it away, until there is nothing but the water. It rises further, to her thighs, to her waist, to her chest.

_ Remember your truth _ .

“What truth?” says Clem, or, tries to say. She can barely hear herself over the sound of the waves.

_ The truth you knew when you were young _ , says the voice.

“I don’t know what that is!” says Clem, “I don’t-”

A wave hits her square in the face and she wakes up with a gasp, barely managing to stop herself falling out of bed.

“You alright in there?”

“Fine, thank you,” says Clem, her voice clipped.

She takes a steadying breath, looking down at her hands. A truth she knew when she was young.

Although she would hardly admit it, she’d spent her youth not knowing much of anything at all. Being sixth in line, all she’d been prepared for was to be a reasonable match for a reasonable alliance if Kesh ever had need of it. She was so unimportant that Crysanth had even let her choose rowing over etiquette classes, so sure that Clem would never be important enough for it to matter.

Before that, she’d spent most of her childhood alone with tutors, looking forward to the few times a year that she’d be allowed to attend Kesh events, to see the others of her social set. They’d gather together under her instruction, following her in games through the palace,

She’d quite liked that, although it was silly to think of it now, a group of primy-dressed children working together in the palace gardens to build a makeshift palace out of stolen tablecloths and their imagination.

_ Remember your truth _ .

“I’m  _ trying _ ,” snaps Clem.

The guard gives her a look.

“I’m not talking to you,” says Clem firmly, and turns away.

Sovereign Immunity visits, an unusual occurrence. He still doesn’t seem to be able to look her in the eye, which Clem supposes is a victory on her part, even if it is a victory that sticks a little in her throat.

“I… Leap and Millie said they saw you the other day.”

“Yes?” says Clem.

He shifts his feet. “They said you were…” He lowers his voice. “They said you were talking to the ghost?”

“No,” says Clem, “I wasn’t.”

“Oh,” says Sovereign Immunity, his shoulder slumping, “Right-”

“I don’t believe it to be a ghost,” continues Clem. “Honestly, I’m not sure what it is, besides annoying.”

Sovereign Immunity stills, his eyes going to her for a moment before skittering away.”I… see.” He pauses. “Are you… how are you?”

Clem considers him for a moment. “I didn’t think you were so concerned with my wellbeing.”

“I- Well, I didn’t think you’d- I thought you’d be able to handle it.”

“I am,” says Clem. “I’m fine, obviously.”

“Sure,” says Sovereign Immunity.

Clem sighs, looking down at her hands until Sovereign Immunity awkwardly shuffles out of the room. 

Her nailpolish is chipped. A shame, she thinks, that all Gucci’s good work should be so easily undone.

  
  
  


This time, there is no throne. When Clem steps closer she can see the stain on the marble floor where the throne had been, moss growing out of it in thin patches. Clem’s eyes follow the trail of soft greenery, the moss spreading out until it forms a carpet around her, until she’s no longer in a throne room but a garden.

She looks up, closing her eyes for a moment to feel the warmth of the sun on her face, letting out a deep breath. She’d forgotten, being in Cruciat, how the sun could be warm instead of just a distant ball of light.

_ Come find me. _

Clem looks around her, but she is alone. “Where are you?”

_ I am with your truth _ .

“That’s not an answer,” says Clem.

  
  
  


Valence is the next to visit her.Clem stands as they enter, and they look at each other for a long moment. Clem clasps her hands behind her back, trying to appear as relaxed as possible. Their gaze reminds Clem a little of her mother’s, as though they can see all the things that she’s trying to conceal.

It’s Valence who finally breaks the silence. “I wanted to see what your play was.”

Clem flexes her hands behind her back. "And what play would that be?"

"Pretending to hear voices," says Valence.

"I'm not  _ pretending _ ," says Clem, "and I don't hear  _ voices. _ "

“Right,” says Valence, “That’s what I thought.”

They turn to go, and Clem steps forward. “‘Wait.”

Valence stops, slowly turning around. They wait.

Clem takes a deep breath. “I… I have heard about the offer, from the Pact.”

“Of course you have,” says Valence.

“Don’t trust them,” says Clem, the words coming out in a rush.

Valence blinks, their attention more focused on her than it was a moment ago. “I’m surprised to hear that from you.” They pause. “Why?”

“I-” Clem tries, “I saw- You can’t trust them.”

“Do you have visions now, on top of hearing voices?”

Clem ignores them. She has never felt less imposing, less like her mother in her life, impassiveness slipping away under the urgence to make Valence understand. She’s got their attention enough that they’ll at least hear her even if they don’t  _ listen _ . 

"If you let them in, even a little, they'll, they'll-" She swallows, trying to regain her composure. "Gucci said that you were working as a group, a council, and that's, well. I suppose that's one way to do things, but if they're part of your group, they will always be leading you, whether you know it or not."

They’re still for a moment, the eyes of their mask giving nothing away, and then, miracle of miracles, they nod. Clem can't stop her shoulders from slumping in relief.

“It’s…” Valence pauses. “I think that’s the popular view, at the moment.”

“Good,” says Clem.

They pause at the doorway. “Clementine, why… why tell me that?”

“Just because we disagree doesn’t mean I think we always will, after all, you’re much too sensible a person to disagree with me  _ all _ the time,” says Clem, “And it certainly doesn’t mean I want you to be wiped out of existence." She pauses. “And I don’t intend to be either.”

  
  
  


She's in the garden again, sitting by a fountain in the sun. She drags her fingers through the cool water, looking up at the fountain. It's difficult to make the carvings out under the rushing water, but the designs look Apostalisian, like something out of an old history book.

Clem frowns, leaning forward. There’s a figure on a ship, the signs of war behind them. The same figure underground, a lantern held high. They’re approached by a creature, a twisting mass that seems to shift under her eyes. The creature and the Apostalisian reach out towards one another. A meeting, a joining.

"Which one are you?" says Clem.

_ I am the one found, and doing the finding. It is the same now. _

"That's not really an answer."

_ It is _ , says the voice,  _ it is just not one you like. _

“Yes”, says Clem, "I've been getting a lot of that lately."

_ And more still yet to come _ , says the voice,  _ war is long, for Kesh, and longer still for the Rapid Evening. _

Clem walks the pathway away from the fountain, following the voice.

_ Have you found your truth? _

“No,” says Clem, “I don’t even know what it would be. I don’t think I even  _ have _ one.”

_ You do _ , says the voice,  _ See? _

In front of her is a rough stone table, the plate settings charmingly rustic.

_ There is plenty of room for you, at the table _ .

Clem traces her finger along the edge of the table until she reaches a white plate trimmed with gold, set beside a plate of red and silver. She remembers, sharply, sitting at the foot of the throne with Gucci, easy and close, on equal level to one another.

“Oh,” says Clem.

For just a moment, she thinks she can see Gucci in the reflection of the red plate, but when she turns around there is only the throne, whole again and within her reach.

Clem's hand flexes but stays by her side, thinking of the way it had so easily crumbled before her. The rot was too deep in it, even if it couldn't be seen. If she sat on it, it would only hold her for a moment before it was washed away.

She takes a deep breath, turning back to the table.

_ You remember, _ says the voice,  _ come find me. _

Clem blinks awake. The door to her cell is open, and there is no guard by the door. She feels a little as though she is still in the dream.

_ Come find me. _

The words vibrate in the back of her mind.

She takes a step outside her cell. No alarms sound. No guards rush in. No one seems to notice her at all as she sneaks through the corridors of Fort Icebreaker, following the garden path in her mind. 

They're spread thin, she knows. There’s not enough guards to have a full rotation around the storage areas, where they shove all the things they get from the raids that aren't food and medical supplies.

The crate in front of her is unremarkable to her eyes and loud in her mind. It vibrates under her hands.

"Hello," murmurs Clem, "found you."

The crate pulses, making the skin of her palms tingle.

_ To find me is to accept your truths _ , says the voice,  _ I will serve no thrones. _

Clem thinks of the throne, crumbled beneath her feet. Clem thinks of a garden.

“Perhaps that’s for the best,” says Clem, “I don’t think I have one to give you one.”

Something presses against her mind.  _ Do you accept your truths? _

"I suppose I have to," says Clem.

_ Then come find me. Open the crate. _

Clem does. The world explodes in golden light.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Cold fingers grasp her shoulder, and Clem frowns, slowly opening her eyes. The world swims into focus, Figure A peering down at her.

"Clementine Kesh. People are looking for you."

"Oh?" says Clem. “Yes, well, I suppose they would be.”

"You have missed the battle," says Figure A.

"The battle?" Says Clem, sitting up slowly. 

There’s an odd sensation along the back of her neck and she reaches up, drawing her hand back quickly as metal ripples along her back. Figure A is saying something, but she can't make out the words over the sudden ringing in her ears.

_ Hello Clementine Kesh _ , says the voice.

And with it, a rush of information, years of knowledge and loneliness and waiting that overwhelm her own small experience with it. Clem feels very glad that she’s sitting down, reaching forward to grasp Figure A’s shoulder to steady herself.

“Why me?” says Clem

Integrity pauses.  _ Your truth was very loud, even if you could not hear it for yourself. It called to me. _

“Because they say you have escaped,” Figure A continues, “gone on the run, gone to ground."

"I probably should."

She can feel integrity's frown.

"Well I'm not going to do it, obviously." She sighs, her voice softening. "It's… it wouldn't be right. I should be here, to… I should be here."

_ Yes _ , says Integrity.

Clem takes a deep breath in, letting it out slowly. She looks up at Figure A. “They’re looking for me?”

“Yes,” says Figure A, “You have been missing for one day, twenty two hours and fourteen minutes.”

“Oh,” says Clem, “Right. Well. I suppose I had better go end the search.”

Figure A helps her to her feet. Although she’s sure they can see Integrity curled around her neck, they don’t show any reaction.

“Thank you,” says Clem. She frowns. “You don’t seem exactly… surprised to see me.”

“I have been alive a long time,” says Figure A, “I have seen Excerpts before.”

“Huh,” says Clem, “I’ll have to remember that.”

They follow her as she heads towards the makeshift council chambers, Integrity guiding her way. She pauses at the door, listening to the muffled argument within for a moment before she opens it.

"Hello," says Clem, “I heard you were looking for me.”

_ Greetings _ , says Integrity, rippling along her shoulders.

There is a brief, still moment of silence, before everybody seems to speak at once, a barrage of shocked questions that don’t seem to be aimed at anyone in particular. Clem lets Integrity guide her, taking a seat at Gucci's left hand. She can feel Gucci trying not to stare. Clem takes a breath, steadying herself.

"You know, I thought about what you said," says Clem.

"And?"

"I would like for us to truly be on the same side for once, instead of just playing at it," says Clem, "even if it means there is no throne at all. That is my truth."

Integrity flexes her hand, and she reaches out, her hand hovering over Gucci’s. Gucci studies her a moment before she turns her hand over, tangling their fingers together. Clem can't help the smile that overtakes her face.

"I have to admit," says Gucci, "when I came to see you, I did not expect… this."

"Neither did I,” says Clem.

_ I did _ , whispers Integrity,  _ Your truth was very loud _ .

“So were you,” says Clem, lifting her free hand to touch at the raised points of Integrity’s metal along her neck.

They pulse, pleased, curling and settling along her spine, supporting her as she turns to face the council’s questions. She has a feeling it will be a long day but, for now, it feels easy to bear it.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi: mariusperkins on most places


End file.
